Bressant

"It must feel like that to die, I suppose," thought she. "If I were

Sophie, now, that snow would be the death of me in two days: as it is, I

shall only have a cold in the head to-morrow. There seems to be no

reason in these things."

A dark figure turned the farther corner of the house, and came

ploughing through the snow immediately under the eaves, dragging one

hand along the clapboards as it came. The crunching of the snow caught

Cornelia's ears, and she turned and recognized the figure in half a

breath. The great height, the massive breadth, the easy, springing

tread--it was Bressant from head to foot. He was buttoned up in a short

pea-jacket, and there was a round fur cap on his head. As Cornelia

turned upon him, he stopped a moment, standing quite motionless, with

the fingers of one hand resting on the side of the house. Then he came

close up to her and grasped her wrist with his gloved hand.

"Where is Sophie?" demanded he in his rapid, muffled voice.

"She's ill: she caught cold: she's at home," answered Cornelia, who, at

the first recognition, had felt a kind of twang through all her nerves,

and was now trying to control the effects of the shock. There was

something queer in Bressant's manner--in the way he looked at her.

"But you came," rejoined he, stooping down and peering into her

beautiful, troubled face. He broke into a laugh, which terrified

Cornelia greatly, because he laughed so seldom. "One might know you'd

come. You thought I'd be here: you came to see me, and here I am. Will

Sophie get well?"

"Oh, yes! she was much better. When I left she had on

her--wedding-dress."

Bressant drew in his breath hissingly between his teeth, and his fingers

tightened a moment round Cornelia's wrist. The pain forced a sob from

her and turned her lips pale. He paid no attention to her, presently

dropped her wrist, and put his hands behind him, grinding the snow

beneath his heel, and looking down.

"Whom is she going to marry?" was his next question, asked without

raising his head.

"You!" exclaimed Cornelia, in astonishment and fear. The answer sprang

to her lips without forethought or reflection, so much had the strange

question startled her.

But he again stooped down and peered into her eyes, watching the effect

of his words on her as he spoke them.

"No, no! I am not he who promised to marry her. She wouldn't have me, if

I asked her: she don't know me. I'm going to marry some one else.

She'll love me, no matter who I am. Shall I tell you her name?"

Cornelia could only shiver--shiver--with dry mouth and dilated eyes.

Bressant put his hand on her shoulder, and drew her forward a step or

two, so that the white moonlight fell upon her.